


you're my one way out (and I know I got to take it)

by annabeth_writes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Jon and Sansa's KL storylines are a parallel, but Sansa isn't going to leave him there to suffer alone, post-8x05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-06 14:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_writes/pseuds/annabeth_writes
Summary: Sansa receives a letter from King's Landing, written by Jon's hand and signed with his name, yet she knows that the words are not his own.For she knows what it's like to send a message at a queen's command.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I initially planned to write and post this fic all at once but it started getting so long that I knew I had to cut it down into more than one chapter. So here is just the first part. More will come, I promise.
> 
> Title: Hideaway - Dan Owen

Sansa moved through the godswood quickly, her hands shaking and her breaths coming out in short, gasping bursts with each step that she took. Brienne, Samwell Tarly, and Lord Royce were not far behind, having seen her face pale and her body sway as she read the words scrawled upon the letter that only just arrived at Winterfell. She hadn’t said a word to either of them before setting off to find her brother. Bran sat at the base of the heart tree, a constant sight since his return, and Sansa had little doubt of what he was seeing behind his milky eyes.

“What happened?”

Her voice cut through the air like a needle, sharp and unforgiving. Bran’s distant expression melted away and within moments, he was blinking at her with dark, unaffected eyes.

“Are you certain that you want to know?” he asked as if he already knew the answer.

She forced herself to swallow her frustration and lifted her hand, showing him the missive that fluttered in the breeze that filled the clearing.

“She-” Sansa shuddered, the words tasting much like poison upon her tongue. “She commands that I travel south, to King’s Landing. That I come and bend the knee.”

Bran stared at her, waiting to hear the rest of it. He already knew, of that she was certain.

“So she’s taken the capital?” Brienne asked, a waver of concern in her voice.

Sansa wished that she could show her the sympathy she was due, if not for Jaime Lannister than for her own heartbreak in the aftermath of his departure. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to think of it. Not when her own heart was on the brink of shattering.

“With fire and blood,” Bran said, his words slow and measured.

Brienne inhaled sharply as Sam let out a strangled noise. Sansa knew what it meant. They all knew what it meant. Yet she needed to hear it. She needed to know.

“Tell me,” she said, her own voice trembling as a coldness that had nothing to do with winter’s air seeped through her veins.

Bran looked away from her, his eyes falling upon the weeping face of the heart tree.

“Ashes fall like snow,” he said, his voice distant. “A fleet of iron sunken beneath dark water. Lions entombed beneath red brick. A once nameless wolf roams the unguarded streets upon a pale horse. A city is a city no more.”

Sansa felt as if she might be sick any moment, breathing shakily as she turned away from him with a hand pressed over her racing heart. She took the smallest comfort from his words, knowing that Arya was alive. Yet nothing else could ease her endless panic. Her eyes fell upon Sam, who looked as pale as the bark of the weirwood tree at her back. Lord Royce, who cursed the Targaryen name beneath his breath. Brienne, who tilted her head away to hide the tears that stung at her brilliant eyes.

“She has him,” Sansa said, a tear slipping down her cheek as she looked down at the scroll she held.

Unfurling it, her eyes swept over the messily scrawled words before she read it aloud.

“Sansa, I write to you with a merry heart. Our queen has ascended to the throne that is her birthright. She promises abundant rewards to those who remain faithful and loyal to her. As the Lady of Winterfell, with the blood of Torrhen Stark in your veins, I ask that you come to King’s Landing and swear fealty to Queen Daenerys. This is a time of joy and liberation from the Lannister threat. Let the great houses of Targaryen and Stark come together in harmony once more. Your cousin, Jon of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and Warden of the North.”

A heavy silence hung in the air as she let the words take root in her mind. The rage that built within her was nothing like fire, but rather a film of ice filling her from head to toe as she breathed in and out deeply.

“Jon of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone?” Sam said in a low, nearly breathless voice.

“She legitimized him,” Sansa said quietly, crumbling the parchment in her fist. “To lay claim to him.”

“Why would she do that if his claim is greater than her own?” Brienne demanded.

Lifting her head, Sansa met her eyes with a steely gaze.

“Because he does not have a dragon.”

Her thoughts formed quickly, running through one scenario after another, trying to figure out a way past this. The letter still clutched in her hand infuriated her, if only because she knew it for exactly what it was. She’d written a letter like this once too. A letter that she showed to Jon upon his return from Dragonstone, hoping that it may bridge the gap between them if she showed open honesty. He read every word and embraced her, whispering that he felt no reason to blame her for her words. Only Cersei. Now he mimicked it nearly word for word, a critical message for her that would look innocent to the Dragon Queen’s undoubtedly prying eyes.

“He’s a prisoner,” Sansa said, turning away from them all to pace about the clearing as she felt their eyes fix upon her. “Daenerys holds him as a threat to the North. To _me_. Bend the knee or he will die.”

“He’s her own kin,” Lord Royce said, sounding affronted at the mere thought of it.

“She burned a city to the ground,” Sansa said, shaking her head. “She has no misgivings about violence, my lord. Look to the man at your left if you must know that for certain.”

Lord Royce glanced at Sam as he shifted uncomfortably, very aware of what Daenerys could and would do to secure her own power.

“Are we certain that she will even let him go?” Brienne asked with uncertainty. “He is a threat to her as long as he lives.”

Sansa stopped in place, turning to face her.

“Of course she will not,” she said, shaking her head. “Her aim is not to bring harmony between our houses. She wishes to put me in chains and Jon knows it. He gave me ample warning in this letter.”

“Then do not go, my lady,” Brienne said, her face taking on a determined yet almost pleading expression as she took a step towards Sansa. “You said once that you would not give them another prisoner. Do not do so now.”

Sansa took a deep breath, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

“When King Joffrey called my brother to King’s Landing to bend the knee, Robb had an advantage over the Lannisters. A healthy North and, if he wished to keep from going south, the Neck as a natural barrier. Daenerys’ dragon will find no such difficulty passing it and unless we wish for Winterfell to join King’s Landing as a graveyard, I have little choice in the matter.”

She glanced to Bran, who stared back at her with a level expression. Moving towards him, she hesitated before opening her mouth to speak, knowing that her words would be treason. She trusted the people who stood within this godswood and knew that there were few whispers making their way to Daenerys these days without Varys at her side. Yet another mistake the Mother of Dragons made.

“You will send our response three days after my departure,” Sansa said, looking into his eyes. “I must pen a few letters of my own before I leave.”

“To who, my lady?” Sam asked curiously.

“To anyone who will listen,” Sansa said, turning to face them once more. “First to the Lord of Storm’s End.”

“This new Stormlord owes his seat to the Targaryen queen,” Lord Royce said, eyeing her warily. “Will he not betray you at first chance?”

“Gendry Baratheon grew to a man in the heart of King’s Landing,” she said, her words firm and measured. “He knew every street and likely counted friends among those faces. Do you mean to tell me that he will bow willingly to a queen who burns this city and its people to ashes within minutes?”

Lord Royce did not answer, though he looked far less doubtful than before.

“It will take time,” Bran warned her, as if he knew exactly what he intended.

“Then I will give him as much of it as possible,” Sansa said, her voice quieter now as she clutched the crumpled parchment to her chest. “He may well be a high lord now but I imagine he is still a blacksmith at heart. Arya… Arya trusted him. So shall I.”

With that, she turned towards the castle and readied herself to carve a path back to her solar. To unravel a dangerous queen’s reign, beginning first with the stroke of a quill.

“I would accompany you, my lady,” Brienne said, seemingly overcome with emotion once more. “To King’s Landing, as your sworn shield.”

Sansa looked her way, tilting her head to the side and reaching out to clasp Brienne’s hand after a moment.

“That is not all you wish to do,” she said softly.

Brienne met her eyes, a look of anguish in her own.

“I-I would know for certain,” she said, her breath hitching. “Please, Lady Stark-”

“I permit you to accompany me,” Sansa said, allowing her the dignity of not explaining the driving need within her to seek out the truth. “In truth, I demand it. Your bravery will be my strength, Ser Brienne.”

Brienne managed the smallest of smiles, shaking her head.

“Your strength is your own,” she said, looking somewhat relieved. “I grow more admiring of it with each day that passes, my lady.”

Sansa gave her a close-lipped smile in return before nodding her head and pulling away. Sam remained with Bran but Brienne and Lord Royce accompanied her back to the keep, ready to assist her in whatever she needed.

*****

The stench of King’s Landing before was nothing compared to now. Nearly a moon’s turn passed as Sansa and her company rode to the capital and it had done nothing to chase away the smell of a city laid to ash. She blinked away the tears that stung at her eyes, knowing that if she began to cry for the thousands of lost souls, she may never stop. Brienne remained at her side, steadfast and true, and a raven landed upon her shoulder with a quiet caw, guided by her brother to let her know that she was not alone. Inhaling deeply, Sansa urged her horse forward through the ruined gate. It was tempting to keep her eyes forward but Sansa owed more to those who died.

No matter how much she despised this place, the innocent inhabitants of King’s Landing deserved a far better fate. Her eyes took in every bit of rubble, every fallen building, every remaining bit of ash, and every brown stain of blood. The bodies were gone but their ghosts remained. If she closed her eyes, she could see the city as it used to be. Blandly colored buildings contrasting the bright colors worn by commonfolk and nobleborn alike. The markets alive with chatter and trade. The harbor constantly receiving and sending away ships bursting with goods and visitors. The Red Keep, standing proud above it all.

Hardly any of it remained.

Every so often, she’d spot people in the shadows of ruined buildings, their faces hidden as they turned away from her. The castle at the end of the road was built by the ancestors of House Targaryen yet reduced by half at the command of a woman with the blood of Old Valyria in her veins. Nothing was safe as long as Daenerys Targaryen sat the throne. No man could rest easy as long as her reign darkened these lands. Brienne looked as sickened as Sansa felt, as if she could not quite believe the sight before them. Their eyes met but their lips remained sealed. They didn’t trust their own words in this place. Daenerys had no access to the rest of the realm but there was no telling who listened around the corner, even in the near desolate city.

Sansa’s heart sank at the sight of a child peeking out from the shadows of a ruined manse, looking straight at her. No more than seven or eight with skin covered in dust or ash, her eyes wide and her cheeks hollow. Her lips were dry and cracked and her hair tangled and matted about her face. Sansa pulled her horse to a stop, the raven fluttering its wings on her shoulders as Brienne did the same. She could not help but stare at the child, anger and devastation rising in her the longer she stared into those haunted eyes. The girl seemed determined to stand there, or perhaps she was frozen in fear.

“They know we are here, my lady,” Brienne said.

Swallowing hard, Sansa knew that her words rang true. Yet she could not bring herself to ride away, slipping from the saddle as Brienne hissed out her title beseechingly and the raven flew away. Once her feet hit the ground, Sansa opened one of her saddlebags and produced a skin of water and a nearly stale chunk of bread. It would not be much but it may fill a small belly until she could find something more substantial. Turning towards the child, Sansa was glad to see she hadn’t moved an inch. Taking one step, then two more, Sansa crouched to the ground a few feet away and held the bread out first. The girl didn’t move, her eyes darting from Sansa’s face to her hand several times.

“It’s alright,” she said encouragingly, nodding at the girl. “I mean you no harm. I know that your stomach must ache terribly.”

The girl hesitated before taking a slow step forward, her bare, scratched feet bringing even more pain to Sansa’s heart. Yet she did not limp, taking steady steps one after another until she could snatch the bread away. Half-expecting her to scramble back to her hiding place, Sansa watched with relief as she tore into it with her teeth right where she stood. Her jaw moved rapidly, chewing and swallowing as quick as possible before taking another bite. Pulling the top from the waterskin, Sansa held it out and watched as she drank of it greedily, rivulets of water running down her chin and staining the dirty, ripped clothing that she wore.

“Are you alone?” Sansa asked after a moment.

The girl stared at her as she chewed, considering her words carefully before nodding as she took another bite.

“Where’s your mother?”

Her eyes darted away, sweeping about the street wildly before looking to the sky. It was enough for Sansa to know exactly what happened and it was more than enough for her to make a decision, damning the consequences.

“My name is Sansa,” she said, pressing a hand over her heart. “I know what happened here, sweetling, but I cannot imagine how it must have felt to be in the midst of it all.”

The girl shuddered, her eyes growing misty as she looked down at what remained of the bread in her hands. Sansa pressed her lips together as a small sniffle reached her ears.

“I don’t want to leave you here, all alone,” Sansa said, keeping her voice as gentle as she could. “What protection I can give, I offer to you.”

She heard Brienne’s sharp intake of breath behind her and knew that this was dangerous. But she could not ignore this little girl and leave her starving amidst the ashes. Holding out her hand, she cast her thoughts to the gods yet did not pray to them.

 _This one girl,_ she hissed within her mind, rage in her thoughts. _You did nothing for this city even as you heard their cries. Put aside your cruelty for once and let me save this one girl._

The tightness in her chest eased as soon as a small hand fit itself within hers. Sansa sighed heavily, offering her as warm a smile as she could muster before drawing her in close as she stood. The girl clutched the bread and water to her chest in one hand as Brienne dismounted, eyeing Sansa with a mixture of respect and wariness in her eyes.

“This is Ser Brienne,” Sansa said quietly, guiding the girl towards the horses. “She protects me and I promise you now that she will do the same for you.”

Brienne didn’t protest, helping the girl onto Sansa’s horse at her nod, only mounting her own steed once Sansa was settled on her saddle once more. It felt odd, having a small body sat in front of her own, but Sansa kept one hand around her waist and the other on the reins as they continued riding. The girl chewed away at the rest of the bread until she realized that they were riding for the Red Keep. Her body tensed and a whimper passed her lips but Sansa shushed her quietly, reaching up to smooth back her grimy hair.

“I will protect you,” she repeated, her voice slow and measured. “I will protect you.”

A gathering of Unsullied guards awaited her, their faces hidden beneath helmets yet their eyes glittering as they watched her every move. Sansa stared back at them unflinchingly, refusing to allow herself to be cowed. One of them stepped forward, removing his helm to reveal himself. He was the leader, the one she knew as Grey Worm, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, moving from Sansa to Brienne and, finally, to the child. The girl trembled violently in Sansa’s arms no matter how close she held her.

“I am Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark and Lady of Winterfell,” Sansa said, keeping her voice level and unrelenting.

Grey Worm’s eyes flashed with something unrecognizable as he stepped closer, offering her no bow.

“Queen Daenerys awaits your presence,” he said, his words short and curt. “Alone.”

Brienne opened her mouth to protest but Sansa shot her a look, cutting her off before she could speak.

“My sworn shield will remain here with my ward,” she said, lifting her chin. “I trust that they will both remain unharmed.”

Only silence met her words but she awaited his nod before climbing off of the horse, leading it over to Brienne for her to hold the reins. Looking up at the girl and seeing the terror in her eyes, Sansa reached out to squeeze her hand lightly.

“Stay strong, little one,” Sansa said, offering her a smile. “I will return soon.”

With that, she turned away and smoothed out her skirts before nodding Grey Worm’s way. As she stepped forward, knowing the way to the Great Hall quite well, the Unsullied all but surrounded her, leaving several behind to watch Brienne and the girl. Grey Worm took the lead, marching her all the way to the doors of the hall. As they creaked open, Sansa’s stomach twisted violently and her heart picked up pace in her chest. It felt like centuries had passed since she last stepped through these doors and looked upon the hall. The Lannister banners were long since gone, torn away and replaced by Targaryen colors.

Looking up, Sansa noted with horror that the ceiling was half collapsed. There were gaping holes in the walls and the floor was cracked and torn in many places. It seemed that the only things that survived the destruction was the Iron Throne and the silver-haired woman that sat upon it. She wore a flowing gown of red silk lined with black, her hair curled and braided to perfection. She sat the throne as if it was a cushioned chair, her arms laid purposefully over the sides and her eyes fixed directly on Sansa as the Unsullied parted to reveal her to the Dragon Queen’s sight. Daenerys leaned forward ever so slightly as if she couldn’t quite control her anticipation.

They were completely alone apart from her guards.

Sansa wondered if there was anyone in the Red Keep apart from the queen, her armies, and Jon. She’d heard nothing of Tyrion since the sack and wondered if he survived her wrath. Were there other visiting lords and ladies there? All cowed by her destruction of King’s Landing and determined to swear their fealty before they joined the Lords Tarly in their fiery fate. Sansa pulled herself together, refusing to show a single ounce of fear as she gathered her skirts in her hands and made her way forward. The physical cloak she wore was far less heavy than the metaphorical one she draped over her shoulders now, knowing exactly what she needed to do.

It felt familiar, yet odd all at once. Like an old gown that didn’t quite fit. _Little dove,_ Cersei’s whisper filled the air as she walked. _A king doesn’t discuss battle plans with stupid girls,_ Joffrey snapped at her, his voice floating in the air. _Look around you,_ Littlefinger urged her in that whisper soft voice of his. _We’re all liars here, and every one of us is better than you._ Sansa repressed a shiver, refusing to tear her eyes away from Daenerys as she moved ever closer to her. _Lady Stark, you may survive us yet,_ Tyrion marveled once she came to a stop.

“Lady Stark,” Daenerys said coolly, unmoving as she watched and waited.

Sansa stared back at her, breathing in deep and exhaling slowly to slow the pace of her heart. Her hands did not shake as she stood there. Her resolve did not waver and her convictions did not falter. _The North will never be yours,_ she shouted in her mind. _He will never be yours, no matter what you may be led to believe._ With that, she released her grip on her gown and steeled herself for what she must do. _Forgive me Father,_ she silently pleaded. _Forgive me Robb._ With that, she sank to her knees in the same place she once pleaded for her father’s life and bowed her head to a queen that she would never show true loyalty. After a few moments, Sansa lifted her head and met her gaze, aware of the triumph glittering in those violet eyes.

“The North is yours, Your Grace,” Sansa said, the words coming out clear and unwavering. “We pledge our fealty to the one true queen, Daenerys of House Targaryen.”

A smile broke out on Daenerys’ face, cruel and beautiful all at once.

 _And so it begins._ Sansa thought to herself.

Daenerys rose slowly, clasping her hands in front of her as she stared at Sansa for several long moments, seemingly thrilled by the sight of her on her knees.

“You may rise, Lady Stark.”

Sansa rose to her feet as gracefully as she could manage, refusing to let this woman see her wince or falter.

“You must be exhausted from your journey,” Daenerys said, though there wasn’t a single note of sympathy in her voice. “I have already seen to it that there are chambers prepared for your use in Maegor’s Holdfast, as well as for your sworn shield nearby. I remember how you trust and value the presence of Brienne of Tarth.”

“I do, Your Grace,” Sansa said, nodding her head. “Your kindness is much appreciated.”

Daenerys tilted her head to the side ever so slightly but allowed Sansa a nod nonetheless.

“I shall have hot water sent to you both,” she said, gesturing to Grey Worm as he stepped forward. “Wash the road from your skin and rest easy under my protection. We will speak at a later time.”

Sansa nodded, keeping her shoulders straight and her head high. As much as she wanted to ask after Jon, she somehow knew that she would not get an answer. She had to bide her time, hidden and patient. Sinking into a curtsy, Sansa cast her eyes to the cracked floor beneath her and fit the last pieces of her armor into place.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she rose.

Daenerys’ eyebrow quirked but she offered no other words. As soon as she received a nod of dismissal, Sansa turned away and followed Grey Worm back towards the courtyard. Brienne dismounted as soon as she caught sight of her, pulling the girl down from Sansa’s horse. They crossed over to her quickly as Sansa fought to maintain her composure.

“We are to be guests of the queen,” she said, her voice giving away nothing as she reached out towards the girl.

She clutched at Sansa’s hand, pressing into her side as they walked through the damaged keep. Brienne simply nodded stiffly, keeping her words to herself as the Unsullied surrounded and led them once more. Sansa kept her eyes forward, knowing that she made things more complicated for herself by taking the child at her side under her wing. Yet she could not bring herself to regret it for a single moment. It came as no surprise that they were taken to Maegor’s Holdfast once she saw the state of it, far less affected by the sack than the rest of the buildings.

As they were ushered across the drawbridge, Sansa eyed the dry moat and the iron spikes, wondering if Queen Helaena and every other Targaryen of old smiled upon their descendent now or if some perhaps flinched away from her actions here. Ghosts surrounded her at every turn, through the Queen’s Ballroom and up the steps to a set of chambers much larger than the ones she was allowed before, when she was a hostage of the Lannisters. Sansa wondered what game Daenerys was playing. A part of her expected to be shackled and tossed in a cell upon her arrival. Instead, she was given what she remembered to be Princess Myrcella’s chambers so long ago.

Turning towards Grey Worm, Sansa did not hesitate to ask if they would be given food as well. He nodded once before pointing out Brienne’s chambers further down the hall. As he turned to leave, two Unsullied remained outside of her door without needing to be told, their spears held tight in their hands. Sansa pried the little girl’s grip from her gown, approaching the door cautiously as she expected them to turn on her any moment. They did nothing as she closed it, though the bolt had been removed. Sansa hardly felt surprised, backing away slowly before letting out a slow, trembling breath.

“I won’t leave you, my lady,” Brienne said with a shake of her head. “Not even for my own chamber.”

Sansa looked to her with a warning gaze, gathering herself as she shook her head.

“We will trust the queen’s hospitality, Brienne,” she said, her voice just loud enough to be heard. “The realm has bled enough. We must all do our part for peace.”

Brienne hesitated before nodding slowly, removing her hand from the pommel of her sword where it laid ever since they rode into King’s Landing.

“Yes, Lady Stark,” she said with a bow of her head, understanding Sansa’s unspoken message perfectly.

“I will call upon you when I have need of you,” Sansa promised her, nodding to the door. “You need your rest as much as I.”

Brienne gave her a long, hesitant look before reaching to her sword belt, pulling out a dagger and handing it over hilt first. Sansa glanced down and saw the girl watching their movements and listening to every word with wide eyes. Reaching out, Sansa took the dagger in her hand and looked up at Brienne. They said no word, understanding passing between them once more just before Brienne turned away. Sansa hid the dagger beneath her cloak as she opened the door, stepping out into the hallway and closing it firmly. After a long moment of staring at the heavy oak door, Sansa exhaled slowly and glanced down at the girl once more.

“Come,” she said, offering her a tremulous smile. “Let us explore our new chambers in full, shall we?”

*****

It took quite a bit of time, during which they explored what they could, but a timid knock came upon her door eventually and Sansa left the girl sitting upon the bed, the dagger well hidden beneath the mattress before removing her cloak and moving across the chambers to open the outer door. A maid stood there, as well as several male servants carrying buckets of steaming water. Each had the same dull, haunted look in their eyes, forced to serve the queen that burned the city around them.

Sansa needed no explanation for their presence, stepping aside to allow them in. She watched as the men filled the bath before excusing themselves with quick bows in her direction. The maid hovered, looking at Sansa warily as if she did not want to speak. She held a small wooden chest in her hands that Sansa hadn’t noticed before yet the maid offered no explanation for it or her reluctance to leave.

“Speak freely,” Sansa encouraged, knowing that she needed the push.

“I-I have been instructed to attend you, m’lady, should you need it,” she said, her voice small and fearful as she set the chest on the vanity near the tub. “The queen sent all sorts of oils and soaps for you.”

Sansa opened her mouth to refuse it but thought again, knowing that refusing her would likely send her back to Daenerys’ service.

“I have only the one gown,” Sansa said, smoothing her hands over the dusty skirts she wore. “If there are spare dresses or fabrics to be found, as well as sewing tools, I would be grateful to have access to them.”

The maid almost looked relieved to be given the task.

“I will do my best, m’lady,” she said, lowering herself into a clumsy curtsy.

“What’s your name?” Sansa asked.

The maid looked at her with shock, as if she didn’t expect to hear the question.

“S-Serra, m’lady,” she answered nervously.

Sansa reached out, wrapping her hand in a gentle grip.

“I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell,” she said quietly, looking into her eyes. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Serra looked even more relieved, though not quite at ease. Sansa hardly blamed her. With a nod, she dismissed her to her task before looking to the girl that laid upon her bed, her eyes shut and her mouth slack as if she couldn’t delay sleep for a moment longer. Knowing that she would not wake for some time, Sansa turned towards the chest that Serra brought and opened it to reveal an assortment of little bottles and soaps. She sniffed each one, finding some sweeter and other spicier, all of them undoubtedly from Essos considering she hadn’t smelled anything like any of it before. Settling on a floral-like soap that reminded Sansa of Margaery, yet another ghost that seemed to haunt these halls, she stripped away her gown and shift, fetched a drying sheet, and sank into the heated water.

Once she soaked her hair, she let her head fall against the lip of the tub and finally let the tears rush to her eyes. For all of her plans, she felt at a loss here, sitting in this bath in more danger than she’d ever been. Her eyes went to Jon, as much of a prisoner as herself. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was in this very building, kept away purposefully. Threatened just as much as herself. Her greatest fear was that he languished away in the black cells, much like her father had all those years ago.

“I’m here for you,” Sansa whispered, all of her bitterness and anger towards him fading away in the wake of her concern. “I will deliver us all from this cursed place.”

Her unheard vow lingered in the air as she began to bathe, scrubbing away the road until her skin was pink and raw and her hair clean of all dirt and ash. Only when the water began to cool did she pull herself from its comfort, drying herself quickly before redressing in the dirty shift and worn gown. It didn’t take much longer for the door to open once more as soon as she permitted the knocker to enter. It was a kitchen servant this time, bearing a platter of varied foods. More than enough for Sansa and the girl to share.

Cersei must have used her stores wisely, to have such foods available in winter. Sansa watched as the servant set the platter down upon a table in her solar as she ran her fingers through her tangled hair, unable to do much else without a brush or comb in sight. She nodded her thanks and shut the door behind them before making her way back into the bedchamber. Sitting on the bed next to the sleeping child, she reached up and brushed her hair away from her face.

“Wake up, little one,” Sansa murmured quietly, brushing her thumb over a dirt-streaked cheek as she remembered her mother doing so long ago. “There is more food and I know you must be hungry still.”

The girl’s eyes fluttered before opening, her dark eyes sleepy yet aware. She sat up slowly, slipping her hand into Sansa’s and following her as she yawned. Once they sat at the table, she didn’t hesitate to tear into what food Sansa gave her without hesitation. Knowing hunger from her own trek across the North to get to the Wall and Jon as she escaped Ramsay, she gave her a little amount and the least rich of the foods, knowing her stomach would ache terribly if she ate too much. After a while, reading the content look upon her face, Sansa took a risk and opened her mouth to speak.

“My name is Sansa,” she said, though she told her once before. “Do you remember that?”

The girl’s eyes flitted her and she nodded slowly.

“Might you give me your name?” Sansa asked hopefully.

A look of uncertainty crossed the girl’s face as she swallowed the bite in her mouth and squirmed in her seat. Sansa was on the verge of assuring her that she didn’t have to tell if it wasn’t what she wanted but the girl’s mouth opened before she could.

“Aliza,” she said quietly, her voice hoarse yet retaining a childlike lilt.

“Aliza,” Sansa repeated, her lips curving up ever so slightly. “That’s a beautiful name.”

She didn’t quite smile but there was a softer look to Aliza’s eyes that almost looked like happiness before it faded just as quickly. Sansa knew beyond a doubt that she did the right thing, no matter the cost. She only wished that she could scour the remains of King’s Landing to find every child that had no one else, though she doubted she’d be allowed outside of the Red Keep’s walls, battered and fallen though they were, for quite some time.

*****

Sleep did not come easily to Sansa, though she didn’t try too hard to allow its claim upon her. Serra came soon after they ate with a pile of fabrics and discarded gowns, as well as a bundle of sewing tools, assuring Sansa that they were given with Daenerys’ permission. When she requested that the bath be drained and replaced with new water so that she could bathe the child, Serra was all too eager to comply. Aliza submitted to the bath with only the slightest of hesitation, allowing Sansa to kneel beside the tub and wash the grime from her olive skin and brown hair.

The warmth of the water and the lateness of the hour helped carry the child back into sleep nearly as soon as Sansa laid her down wrapped in furs and her own cloak. Only then did Sansa make herself comfortable in a chair by the hearth, using the light of the flames within to cut and sew until her fingers all but bled. The pilfered fabrics weren’t any that she might have chosen but Sansa knew that she couldn’t be picky, sorting through them and finding what she could use, not only for herself but for Aliza as well.

She finally managed to slip into unconsciousness half-slumped in the chair in spite of what the position would do to her neck only to wake a few short hours later as the early sun rose above the ruined city to the sound of a familiar, chilling screech overhead followed by a cry from the child in her bed. Sansa hurried to her feet, nearly tripping over the rug on the floor as she hurried to Aliza, gathering her in her arms as she wailed at the sound of the dragon’s call. There was no doubt that she was traumatized by all she saw and heard and Sansa wished that she could snatch the memories from her mind. No child this young should bear so much upon her little shoulders.

“It’s the Stranger come to kill us all,” Aliza cried, tears running down her cheeks.

Sansa couldn’t bring herself to contradict her, stroking her hands through her clean yet still tangled hair as best she could. For the first time in a very long time, a song rose to her lips as she held Aliza close. It was an old northern tune, sung to her by her mother who picked it up from servants at Winterfell. This child knew nothing of the true winters and red weirwood leaves that Sansa sang about but she calmed all the same, her skinny arms clasped tight around Sansa’s waist.

“I’ve been trapped before, many times,” Sansa said softly, her voice just loud enough that Aliza could hear. “I’ve found a way out each time. We aren’t alone here, little one. We will endure.”

Aliza didn’t say anything, remaining huddled close to her so long that Sansa nearly dropped off into sleep again as she leaned against the headboard. But the sound of yet another knock on the door and Aliza’s responding flinch stirred her from her near sleep and she slipped from the bed, gesturing for her to stay there as she made her way to the door. It was Serra that brought food this time, looking far less afraid than the evening before. Sansa stepped aside to allow her in, watching as she set out a modest breakfast.

“You’ve been summoned to speak with the queen as soon as you break your fast, m’lady,” Serra said, giving her a bobbing curtsy.

“Thank you, Serra,” Sansa said, nodding her way.

Before she could call Aliza in to eat, she knew that she had to clothe her. Once she walked into the bedchamber and found the small stack she’d set aside, among the first items she’d completed, Sansa turned towards Aliza and held them out.

“They’re for you,” she said, moving towards the bed.

Sansa had Arya in the back of her mind as she sewed them, wondering if her sister was still here or if she perhaps found her way to Storm’s End. Sansa sincerely hoped it was the latter. She didn’t want Arya anywhere near this mess. Aliza looked stunned as Sansa presented her with the breeches and tunic, holding them up as if she’d never seen anything like it.

“My sister, Arya, likes to wear these instead of gowns,” Sansa explained, handing her a small set of underclothes to put on first.

“Where is she?” Aliza asked as Sansa helped her the breeches and tunic.

She’d guessed on the sizes and wasn’t far off, though the clothes hung off of her skinny form.

“Far from here, I hope,” Sansa said, brushing Aliza’s hair away from her face.

Reaching her hand out, she waited for Aliza to take it before guiding her into the outer room. This time, the girl didn’t wait for Sansa, alight at the sight of the food and impatient enough to dart over to a chair and begin loading her plate with one hand while eating with the other. A part of Sansa wanted to teach her manners and propriety, chafing at the way she grabbed at food with her hands and chewed with her mouth open. But there were far more important things.

“I have to go visit someone else for a while,” Sansa said after a while, knowing she had to explain it to Aliza.

Panic filled her eyes, understandably so, and Sansa was quick to reassure her.

“Only for a few hours at most,” Sansa assured her. “I’m going to have Brienne come to stay with you but if she is called away as well, for whatever reason, you must remain here, do you hear me?”

Aliza simply stared at her, no trace of understanding in her eyes.

“If anyone finds you, something bad could happen,” Sansa said, leaning forward slightly. “I cannot protect you if you won’t help, alright?”

Another moment passed before Aliza allowed her a slow nod.

“I’ll stay here,” she said quietly.

Sansa felt relieved, reaching out to squeeze her small hand lightly.

“This won’t last forever,” she assured her, a sad smile forming on her lips. “Hardly anything does.”

*****

Though Sansa hadn’t finished a new dress quite yet, she wouldn’t have worn one even if she had. The Dragon Queen would simply have to endure seeing her in the dusty riding dress she arrived in, if she wished to speak to her. It was not a far walk to the largest of the chambers within the keep. Sansa was never permitted to enter the king’s chambers when she lived in the Red Keep before, for she had no business there when Joffrey was king before or after their betrothal ended. A part of her always feared she would wind up there somehow, whether as his wife or as his plaything. Yet another fate she was spared by his untimely death. .

Now it was taken over and Sansa imagined it looked quite different before. Daenerys already managed to leave her touches all over the chambers and the scent of her bath oils clung to the air as Sansa stepped inside only to see her standing by the window and staring out at the ruins of the city. A chill ran down her spine that Daenerys could look at the havoc she wrought upon thousands upon thousands of people and wear such a deeply unaffected look upon her face. It tore at her, that anyone could be so callous, knowing that Aliza was not the only want to suffer.

“Your Grace,” she said in greeting, sinking into a curtsy.

Daenerys did not look her way, her eyes still focused into the distance. Yet she spoke after a few moments.

“I begged Jon not to tell anyone the truth of his birth,” she said in a low voice that was far different from the day before. “I told him that it would be our ruin.”

Sansa pressed her lips together to keep certain words from rising in her throat and ruining everything she was trying to build, though she was certain that the woman before her was concerned with what could ruin her and her alone.

“He argued against it. He reassured me time and time again that nothing would come of it if only he could tell his family,” Daenerys’ head finally turned, her unsettling gaze fixing upon Sansa. “If only he could tell _you_.”

There was anger glittering in the depths of her eyes, along with another emotion that Sansa couldn’t quite name before it faded away with a blink.

“How long did you wait to play your little games?” Daenerys asked, moving away from the window to walk to a nearby table. “Minutes? Hours? How long did it take for you to go running to Tyrion so that you could whisper in his ear and turn him against me?”

Once more, Sansa battled the urge to ask exactly where Tyrion was, though she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know the truth. She considered the queen’s words carefully, turning them over and over in her mind. In that moment, she knew that she had to use her words well. Lies would taste far less bitter if she could save herself and others from this woman before her.

“What do you know of Joffrey?”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes, clearly expecting something quite different. Sansa thought she’d dismiss the question and demand more answers.

“Very little,” Daenerys said, her voice tight with restraint. “I’ve been told he was cruel.”

Sansa huffed lightly, nodding her head as she clasped her hands before her.

“Cruel is too kind a word for someone like Joffrey,” she said, her eyes flitting away as she looked about the room, wondering what atrocities he committed there that she never heard of. “He promised that he would show my father mercy and had his head taken from his shoulders in front of me just to hear me scream.”

“Why are we speaking of a dead false king?” Daenerys questioned after a moment.

Sansa looked to her once more, seeing the impatient glint in her otherworldly eyes.

“He did not care much for people’s motives. Why they did what they did mattered to him little. Only how it affected him,” Sansa said, stepping further into the room towards a table that stood between them both. “Understanding motives is quality I think that you and I can both agree is vital in a ruler.”

Daenerys’ eyebrows rose slowly and Sansa knew that she was aware of exactly what she was trying to say.

“Motives,” she repeated, her eyes flitting over Sansa’s face. “Tell me then, Lady Stark, what were your motives in betraying your cousin and committing treason against your queen?”

To Sansa’s surprise, Daenerys gestured for her to sit even as she asked the potentially damning question. Only when they were both settled at the table did she open her mouth to speak, knowing that she would have to be quite convincing to leave this room with her life intact.

“I’ve been taught to trust no one, Your Grace,” Sansa said, folding her hands in her lap. “No one beyond my own family. I learned to perceive anyone else as a threat to myself and those I care for, those I wish to keep close and safe. In truth, I have no desire to see Jon upon the Iron Throne.”

“Then why spread word of his parentage?” Daenerys questioned, looking at her doubtfully. “If not to cast my own claim into doubt?”

“To protect him.”

The queen tilted her head to the side, silently waiting for her to explain.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that family fought one another for the throne. Stannis and Renly Baratheon forsook their fraternal bond for the sake of power. Euron Greyjoy killed his own brother and attempted to do the same to his niece and nephew. Rhaenyra and Aegon, your own ancestors, nearly tore the realm to pieces in their war,” Sansa paused, letting her words sink before continuing. ”All respect, Your Grace, I do not know you. I didn’t know you when you rode through the gates of my home and I don’t know you now. But I know Jon and I know that he doesn’t deserve to die for the blood that runs through his veins. Blood that he has no choice but to carry.”

“You assumed that I would kill him.”

Bold words coming from a woman that burned a city to ashes.

“I couldn’t take the chance. The secret that would protect you may well do him harm, even if not by your hand,” Sansa said, leaning forward. “Could you imagine it? One of your faithful soldiers striking him down to protect your claim, even if you do not give the order?”

Daenerys leaned back in her seat, lifting a hand to trace her fingers over her lips. Sansa wondered if she was remembering Jon’s kisses there and did her best to ignore the twist in her gut at the thought of it. This was no time for such concerns.

“You did not inquire after him,” she said, her eyes fixing upon Sansa once more. “You still have not.”

“Would you have answered if I did?” Sansa countered.

Silence fell in the wake of her question as both women regarded the other warily.

“Who is the child?” Daenerys eventually asked.

Sansa tensed where she sat, fighting to keep a blank look upon her face. Though knew that Aliza would not go unnoticed for long, she hoped to have more time.

“An orphan.”

A vulnerable look broke through the hardness of Daenerys’ gaze for a single moment and Sansa wondered if she’d even considered how many orphans she made when she rained fire down on King’s Landing. Then the mask of a queen settled over her face once more and she pushed to her feet, her chair scraping over the ground. Sansa expected that Daenerys would loom over her but she walked away instead, pouring a glass of wine from a flagon.

“What noble houses remain are coming to swear fealty to their new queen,” Daenerys said without looking her way.

Sansa might have wondered if the statement was bait, meant to inspire some emotion within her. Yet she could hear the slightest wariness in the queen’s voice and it tapped into her curiosity, making her sit straighter in her chair.

“I had no maester as a child. I learned little outside of the great houses of Westeros. My brother was named the beggar king for how he took us from city to city, living on what others would provide for us.”

Sansa watched as she took a long sip, remaining quiet with the sense that there was more to it.

“I do not know lesser houses and their banners. I have no advisors and no council,” Daenerys said, turning her head to meet Sansa’s eyes once more. “I will need someone who has the knowledge I do not. You spent years at court and received a varied education beforehand. You know things I do not. Remain here until I can gather a council around me, be my eyes in court and the whispers in my ear, and my dragon will never cast a shadow over the North again. You will be permitted to return home and live out your days.”

As her mind sorted through each of her words, Sansa didn’t look away from her. There were many things that went unspoken. Tyrion was all but confirmed dead, if not imprisoned. She knew better than to ask after him if he’d fallen out of favor. It would only rouse Daenerys’ suspicions even if it was innocently meant. But Jon… Sansa could not leave well enough alone when it came to him.

“What of my cousin?” Sansa asked, leaning forward with her hands on the table.

Daenerys’ eyes flashed just before she turned away once more, pouring another cup of wine. Sansa took it hesitantly when she walked over to set it upon the table, nodding at her to drink. She’d been in such a situation before, with Cersei’s commanding gaze upon her.

“We are the last two members of House Targaryen,” Daenerys said.

Sansa took a drink, swallowing down the angry words that threatened to rise to her lips. It was a sweeter wine than most. She would have appreciated it more if a bitter taste didn’t linger upon her tongue.

“Until the time comes for you to return to the North, you may visit him as you wish, but never alone.”

Daenerys’ eyes flashed with distrust and satisfaction all at once and in that moment, Sansa’s resolve only grew. She left the half-finished cup of wine sitting upon the table, rising to her feet and sinking into a curtsy as she allowed mindless courtesies to fall from her lips. All while she vowed silently that she would see this woman’s reign come to an end, no matter the personal cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely blown away by the response to this fic. I can't even describe how amazing you all are. Thank you so much!
> 
> I can only hope that this chapter holds up to the first. It's not quite as long but I didn't want to force it by adding more since it came to a natural stopping point. I hope that you all like it!

What little patience she had fled her completely at the slow march of the Unsullied. Had she known where they intended to take her, she might have darted past them without a second thought, such was her need to see Jon and know that he was alive. But no one had given any indication as to where he truly was, so Sansa was forced to maintain the same unhurried pace. They never left Maegor’s Holdfast and their steps carried them further and further away from Sansa’s own chambers. As far as they could be, in truth. A deliberate move on Daenerys’ part, of that Sansa had no doubt.

As the guards came to a stop before the door, Sansa didn’t allow herself to spare them a second glance. The door gave way easily, scraping over the stone floor and thumping against the wall as she rushed into the outer chamber. There was no bar to stop her and no privacy to be given to either of them. Sansa didn’t even look back as one of the guards stepped inside as well, taking a place by the door with a hand gripping his spear tightly. Sansa’s eyes darted about almost desperately, her chest rising and falling quickly as she waited. Once the sound of slow footsteps reached her ears, she looked to the bedchamber and waited.

He looked awful.

Sansa nearly cried out at the sight of him, so unlike the Jon that she knew. As if he’d aged years in the near month since she last saw him. His hair hung in unwashed tangles about his face and his skin was waxen and sallow. His clothing had certainly seen better days, wrinkled and even torn in places, and his beard was growing untamed. Yet all of that paled in comparison to the look in his dark eyes, haunted and desolate as they were. Even as he stared her way, Sansa had the sense that he didn’t truly see her. There was far too much behind that tormented gaze. Taking an uncertain step towards him, she lifted her shaking hands without truly knowing what she ought to do.

“Jon,” Sansa murmured, her heart aching as his face showed no trace of recognition.

His eyes flitted towards the guard, something like resignation crossing his features. Sansa eased towards him slowly, her hands slowly cupping his cheeks in an attempt to bring his eyes back to her. His skin was cool to the touch, a sigh slipping past his lips as his eyes shuttered closed at her touch. Sansa felt a lump rise in her throat as a shudder ran through her. She didn’t have to wonder if he’d been alone and suffering within his own thoughts this entire time. The answer was quite clear. There was no telling what he’d seen, the horrors he’d witnessed. There was no second dragon to keep him high above the death and destruction wrought upon King’s Landing.

“Look at me,” she urged him, brushing her thumb over his cheek.

Though his eyes did not open, his hand lifted slowly to wrap around her wrist in a weakened yet desperate grip. His head tipped into her hand, his chapped lips parting just slightly as he exhaled slowly.

“It’s a dream,” he croaked out, his words broken and slurred.

“No,” Sansa said, pressing her hands more firmly to his cheeks as she shook her head. “I’m here, Jon. Look at me.”

His eyes blinked open reluctantly, fixing upon her face. A moment of levity passed between them as she saw the haze clear. Then horror seeped in and Jon flinched in her grip, shaking his head.

“Why?” he choked out, his hold on her wrist growing tighter. “Why are you here, Sansa?”

Sansa hushed him, aware of the guard listening to every word they spoke.

“Worry not, cousin. I’ve sworn fealty to the queen,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed upon his in the hopes that he would understand. “All is well.”

Jon shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if he could not bear to hear her lies. Sansa tried to hush him, wondering if too many days spent in solitude had weakened his resolve to survive. Daenerys could not suspect that her oath was untrue, nor could she doubt Jon’s loyalty now.

“Gods I-I’m sorry,” Jon exhaled, his body slumping even as he spoke. “I’m so sorry, Sansa.”

“Come now,” Sansa urged him, catching his elbows to keep him on his feet. “You must sit.”

She tried to guide him to the table but no sooner had she sat in her own chair before he sunk to his knees before her, looking up with anguish in his eyes as his hands rose to grip at her skirts. Jon didn’t have to say a word. Sansa saw it all in his face. In the silent remorse and voiceless pleading. Her own eyes stung as she reached towards him yet didn’t touch, unsure of what to do in the face of such raw agony. His head dropped before she could say a word, releasing her from the grip of his eyes upon her as he buried his face in her skirts and trembled, a sound like she’d never heard wrenching itself from his lips.

Sansa gasped as her chest tightened and her heart split, her hands falling to his head without care for his unwashed state. In all her years, she’d never seen Jon so vulnerable. So broken. His entire body shook with the force of his cries and all that she could do was cry with him. For every soul that haunted these shattered walls and this broken city. For every hardship she endured in King’s Landing and for every trial Jon faced at the Wall and beyond. For every loved one they lost and every shred of innocence that was torn from them. For all that she wished to ease the grief and burden from his shoulders, she knew that she could not do so.

This was dangerous enough as it was, with the Unsullied guard watching every moment of it. No true words could pass between them without endangering them further. All she could do was cradle his head and hopelessly wish that she could do something more. Inhaling deeply, Sansa tipped her head back and tried to get a hold upon herself. She drew upon her own strength, as well as the memory of her family. Her father, who loved the North and lived with honor. Her mother, whose strength was found in family and duty. Robb, strong and bright and taken from this world too young. Rickon, as happy a child as she ever knew.

“Do you remember when I came to Castle Black?” she whispered, her words quiet and meant only for him. “I never thought I’d have reason to see the Wall but there it was, as tall and imposing as Father and Uncle Benjen always described. You took me to the top just before we left and despite the cold, I could see the beauty of it. The true North, that’s what Tormund calls it.”

Jon’s shaking did not cease yet she had the sense that he was hanging onto her every word as she spoke.

“I stepped to the edge to look down, so close that you took my hand and yanked me back. Only I slipped and nearly took us both off our feet,” Sansa said, closing her eyes.

She could almost feel the bite of the wind on her cheeks and Jon’s hand gripping hers firmly as he laughed at her affronted screech.

“I cuffed you on the arm and you swore it would leave a bruise,” she recalled, shaking her head.

Her heart ached at the memory and she wished more than anything that they could go back to that day, knowing all that they knew now. That they could do something differently. Though he did not speak, Sansa somehow knew that Jon felt the same.

_ Don’t you wish we could go back to the day we left? _

“This is the world we live in,” Sansa breathed out. “Eyes forward, Jon. It has need of us yet.”

He gripped at her skirts tighter yet his breaths seemed to come easier. Letting out a slow sigh, Sansa looked up at the Unsullied guard and stared for several long moments before speaking.

“He needs a bath,” she said, her voice unflinching as he gazed back at her with hard eyes beneath his helmet.

To her utter lack of surprise, she received no response from the warrior.

“He is Prince Jon of House Targaryen, nephew of  _ your _ queen,” Sansa said, her voice growing harder as she felt Jon flinch at her words. “And I am the Lady of Winterfell, advisor to your queen. I demand that he be given water for a bath or I shall take my concerns directly to Queen Daenerys.”

Another few moments passed in tense silence before the guard finally moved, tilting his head towards the corridor and barking out something in Valyrian. Sansa eased herself back against the chair, exhaling slowly once more as she felt Jon’s weight shift over her lap. He lifted his head, a look of unrestrained worry in his eyes as he gazed up at her, along with another emotion that she couldn’t quite name. Sansa shook her head at his concern before forcing a smile upon her face. She knew what he heard in her words, what Daenerys demanded of her. It was not the time to speak of it. With a heavy sigh, Jon pushed himself slowly to his feet. Sansa reached out to help him yet he flinched away from her touch, dropping into a chair.

“Go,” he said, his voice just as hoarse as before.

Sansa’s eyes grew wide and she sat frozen in place, almost praying that she misheard him.

“I can help you,” she said, her voice wavering slightly.

Jon shook his head, refusing to meet her gaze.

“Go.”

Hurt and anger rose within her in equal measure. Sansa wanted to rage at him, to remind him of all that she’d sacrificed to be there. Not all of it was for him, but enough of it was that his dismissal struck at her chest in a way that she promised herself his words never would again. She despised that he’d taken root beneath her skin so long ago and that, no matter what, she couldn’t carve him out. His disregard would hurt far less if she could. Rising to her feet, Sansa took a step towards the door yet hesitated at his side, looking down at him.

“Care for yourself better than this, Jon,” she said coldly, trapping the heat of her anger within her chest. “There is much to be done in the service of our queen.”

Her words lingered in the air as she swept from the room, unable to see how his head dropped to his hands and his shoulders shook once more.

*****

Parts of the gardens were largely untouched, though the plants had begun to wilt with a lack of care. Sansa moved amongst them nonetheless, remembering the many afternoons she spent walking over stone paths with music and merriment all around. If she closed her eyes, it might have been Margaery at her side, as beautiful and cunning as ever. Her large brown eyes sparkling with mirth and her cheeks filled with a lovely blush. The flimsy fabric of her gowns fluttering in the light breeze as she spoke as freely as anyone Sansa ever met. She’d always reach for Sansa’s hand, holding it in a warm grip as her laughter carried through the air.

Yet it was a much smaller hand that pulled her from her fantasy, slipping into Sansa’s and gripping tight.

Sansa glanced down at Aliza, watching as the girl’s eyes darted this way and that. Perhaps she could sense the ghosts all around, or perhaps she feared the idea of Daenerys’ last dragon appearing yet again. Sansa insisted upon the walk, knowing that she could not let the girl remain shut away lest she waste away in the shadows, much like Jon. In a newly sewn dress of deep emerald fabric that reminded Sansa of Cersei’s ever watchful eyes, she walked the familiar paths with Aliza at her side and Brienne close behind. It was a wonder that her shield was permitted weapons at all, though Sansa assumed that Daenerys was confident enough in the abilities of her ever-present army to restrain Brienne if it came down to a fight.

They were stationed at different points throughout the gardens, whether to watch her or to keep an eye on anyone who may intrude upon the castle this way, Sansa did not know. She ignored them entirely, making her way to the terrace where she first dined with Margaery and Olenna. Lifting Aliza onto the stone wall that overlooked the sea, Sansa sat beside her and inhaled the salty breeze, relieved that it smelled nothing of ashes. There were no ships on the water. No imagined tales of far off lands to distract her from the reality of her situation. Only the truth, cold and unforgiving as it was.

“How long will we be here?” Aliza asked, fiddling with the hem of her tunic.

Sansa looked her way, wishing that she could reassure the girl. That she could fill her head with songs and stories that might distract her from all the horrors of the world. But her father and mother did her no favors by allowing her to live in the clouds.

“Not long, I hope,” she said truthfully, reaching out to brush Aliza’s soft hair away from her eyes. “The time will come when we journey to Winterfell. Have you heard of it?”

The little girl shook her head, leaning against a pillar with her legs splayed on either side of the wall. She looked so like Arya in that moment that Sansa’s heart ached for her sister. She did not know where she was, though she trusted Bran’s word that she lived through the battle. It was the only bit of hope that she could cling to.

“It’s a long way from here,” Sansa said, tilting her head out towards the water once more. “It was built thousands and thousands of years ago by giants, over hot springs that warm the walls. Do you know how to swim?”

Aliza shook her head once more, her eyes round and curious.

“I’ll teach you. We’ll swim every day and eat lemon cakes every night.”

“I’ve never had a lemon cake.”

Sansa’s lips lifted into a small smile.

“They were my favorite,” she said wistfully.

“Why do we have to stay? Why can’t we go now?”

It was easy enough to hear the longing in Aliza’s voice. King’s Landing had been her home but it was a place of nightmares now. A place of death. Sansa’s eyes darted towards Brienne, who stared back at her with a mix of concern and interest in her eyes.

“There is much to be done here and so few can help,” Sansa said as honestly as she could, wary of listening ears even here. “I must remain for a short time but I promise that the time will come. We will go North and you will find a home with me and my people. You will meet my sister and my brother. You will see summer snows and you will play with the Wintertown children. I promise, little one.”

Aliza held Sansa’s gaze for a moment before nodding slowly. She was brave. Far braver than she should have to be. Sansa hated putting so much on her shoulders, knowing that she should have the chance to be a child. Apart from her name, Sansa didn’t know much about her.

“Come here.”

Aliza hesitated but eventually moved, allowing Sansa to turn her around on the stone wall until her fingers could delve into her hair.

“Have you ever heard of Jenny of Oldstones?” she asked.

“No,” Aliza said in a small voice, pulling her knees to her chest.

Sansa worked the tangles from her hair gently, dredging up memories of old stories that she loved.

“She was just a girl that loved to wear flowers in her hair. So lovely was she, that she made a prince fall in love with her. Prince Duncan loved her so much that he refused a crown to marry her.”

“Was she beautiful?”

Sansa allowed herself a small smile, mindlessly twisting and weaving Aliza’s hair into a northern style.

“She must have been,” she said. “Even when his father tried to separate them, Duncan refused to be parted from his lady love. He was called the Prince of Dragonflies.”

“I like dragonflies,” Aliza said.

“As do I,” Sansa said, giving her hair a teasing tug. “Do you like stories too?”

The girl nodded, her shoulders looking just a little lighter as she shifted back to sit closer to Sansa.

“Then you must have heard of Nymeria and her ten thousand ships.”

“I haven’t,” Aliza said, curiosity in her voice.

Sansa smiled just a little wider, her fingers deft in Aliza’s hair as she began telling the story. Time passed as she spoke, the sun dipping lower in the sky. A pin from her own hair kept Aliza’s braids from unwinding. It wasn’t until she began describing how Nymeria burned her ships that Brienne interrupted with a wary sound to her voice.

“My lady.”

Sansa lifted her head, turning her attention to Brienne where she was sweeping her eyes over their surroundings. After a moment, she heard what alerted her. The sound of marching steps. Sansa’s heart flipped as a chill ran down the length of her spine. If Daenerys was coming, she could not let her see Aliza. She may know of her existence but that did not mean that Sansa would allow her anywhere near the child. Not when her moods could not be trusted and she could swing towards violence once more. Aliza may well be expendable in her eyes. Sansa simply wouldn’t allow it.

“Take Aliza back to my chambers,” she said, rising to her feet.

Brienne’s eyes flashed with worry as she looked her way once more.

“I don’t-”

“Do as I say,” Sansa said, lifting Aliza from the wall.

Though she clutched to Sansa’s hand fearfully, Aliza went willingly when she urged her towards Brienne. Their eyes both remained fixed on Sansa, clearly unhappy about leaving her behind.

“I’ve not been harmed yet,” Sansa said quietly, glancing between them both. “But I don’t trust them with Aliza. I don’t want  _ her _ near her.”

Brienne looked down at the child before reluctantly nodding her head. She knew the gardens far better than Daenerys or her army, able to slip away unseen as the approaching men grew closer. Only when they turned the corner did Sansa see that it was not the queen among them, but rather Jon led by no less than four guards. A sigh of relief passed Sansa’s lips just before she remembered herself, turning away from him to look out at the glittering water. She sensed his approach yet did not look at him as he joined her at the low wall. Silence stretched between them and Sansa wondered if he intended to seek her out or if it was a matter of coincidence. Her hands clasped before her tightly as she kept her eyes on the endless horizon.

“Robb would have hated the heat here,” she finally said, her voice as withdrawn as her body. “Father did but he did not complain, at least not within my hearing. But Robb would have let everyone hear how much he despised it. It oppressed him enough when we visited Riverrun, well before Rickon was born. Even though we swam in the river near every day, he complained endlessly until I thought someone would box his ears for it.”

Sansa didn’t know what she expected. Jon didn’t speak a word as she trailed off, remembering long warm days splashing in cool water. He hadn’t been there, of course. It would have been unimaginable, for her mother to bring her husband’s supposed bastard to her childhood home. He remained in Winterfell with Father.

“I remember that.”

Pulling from her thoughts, Sansa blinked with surprise that he talked at all. She half expected him to ignore her presence entirely, even as she spoke to him.

“It was quiet in Winterfell. I joined Fa- your father in his solar every evening,” he said, his voice even more distant than her own. “He taught me how to clean and sharpen Ice.”

Sansa allowed her eyes to fall closed, recalling the image of her father with the greatsword laid across his lap as he attended to it with care. Then she saw the same sword slice through his neck, wrenching him from this world as her screams filled the air. Sansa flinched at the memory, her eyes springing open again as she let out a gasp. Jon’s eyes were upon her face in an instant but she did not dare to look his way, shaking her head.

“Too many Stark men have died here,” she breathed out, her hands falling to the stone wall.

Silence yet again, thickening the air between them as she tried to chase the horrible memories from her mind. Sansa knew what Jon heard in her words.

“I’m not a Stark.”

Jon’s words were like a weight over her heart, pressing down and down as she inhaled deeply, desperate for relief.

_ You are to me. _

The words might have been enough once, enough to convince him to take on the mantle of King in the North when it was the last thing that he wanted. Not now. Sansa wondered if her words held so little meaning to him now. Turning her head, she met his still haunted gaze and held it without flinching.  _ I wouldn’t leave you here to die, _ her own eyes screamed, wondering how he couldn’t understand that.  _ You shouldn’t have come, _ his own stare told her. Sansa turned away from him once more, sinking her teeth into her lower lip to distract from the emotions rising within her. Inhaling deeply once more, she nodded her head before turning to face him fully.

“My prince,” Sansa said dispassionately, sinking into a curtsy.

As she rose and met his gaze, she saw the desired shock reflected there along with the same odd, mysterious emotion as before. It was enough for her. If he wanted to dictate exactly where they stood, she would follow along. Sansa could most certainly do this all on her own, if forced. She only wished that he’d show some measure of fight. Some indication that he didn’t intend to let things continue this way. That he actually wanted to fix what had broken so thoroughly. Yet she received nothing. Turning away, she made her way to the edge of the terrace only to stop short at the sound of his voice, grave and pleading all at once.

“Sansa.”

Tilting her head back, she tried not to let his desperation reach into her quiet so deeply. Yet it was a useless exercise. She couldn’t leave him alone if he wished to have her there, no matter how her heart ached at the thought of staying. Sansa turned around slowly, finally allowing herself to look at him and see him truly. His hair was cleaner now and his skin less pale than before. Dark circles remained beneath his eyes and he held himself like a man with hardly anything left to keep him upright. As if he was clinging to life by a few threads at most. He looked like she imagined she once did, trapped here with no hope of escape.

“I used to watch the ships,” she said, the words slipping from her lips before she could call them back.

Confusion crossed Jon’s face as she made way back to his side slowly.

“They came and went from the port every day,” Sansa said, nodding out towards the sea. “I would craft stories for them. Impossible tales, in truth. I only wanted the distraction. I imagined what I might do if I boarded one of those ships headed for some far off land.”

Her heart beat a quick rhythm in her chest as she felt Jon shift closer towards her, his shoulder brushing hers.

“Tell me,” he said quietly.

Sansa breathed in, resisting the urge to lean into him as she once did. To throw her arms around him and take whatever comfort that he had to offer. There was no comfort here. She learned that long ago. There was only them, side by side with the enemy at their back. Parting her lips, she began to weave one elaborate tale after another.

*****

“Who are you?”

Sansa’s vision was still hazy with sleep but even so, she could tell that the maid that moved about her chambers was not Serra. After days of being attended by the one woman, Sansa couldn’t help but feel suspicious, angling her body in front of a still sleeping Aliza.

“I’m only a maid,” the young woman answered, bobbing a quick curtsy before getting on with her tasks.

“Where is Serra?” she demanded.

“Indisposed, m’lady.”

Slipping from beneath the furs, Sansa wrapped her hand about the dagger that lived beneath her pillow as she slept. Her bare feet made nearly no noise as she crossed the room, peering into the outer chamber. There was no one there, no sign of danger towards her or Aliza. Yet she still felt as if something was off. Turning back around, a gasp wrenched from her throat when she saw the maid standing mere inches away, her pale blue eyes narrowed.

“Would you really use that?” she asked, nodding down at the blade in Sansa’s hand.

Gripping it tighter, Sansa took a slow step away from her.

“Who are you?” she demanded again.

“Would you use it?” the maid said again, her voice losing all lightness as she stared at Sansa intensely.

Lifting her chin as her heart raced in her chest, Sansa kept an edge to her voice as she answered.

“If I need to.”

A tense moment passed between them before the maid stepped away with a nod of her head.

“Good,” she said, turning away from Sansa. “The time for that may come.”

“Sansa?” a sleepy voice came from the bed.

Their eyes both flitted to where Aliza stirred, rubbing at her eyes and looking around sleepily. Sansa fought the urge to put herself between the maid and the child once more, still fearful of her presence. The strange woman simply looked curious.

“Serra-”

“Has a stomachache and nothing more,” the maid said, hefting a basket of wood up on her hip. “She’ll be back to attending you by the end of the day.”

“Who are you?”

Though it was the third time she asked, the woman only looked amused, pausing at her side.

“In winter, we must protect ourselves,” she said, her eyes catching Sansa’s meaningfully. “Look after one another.”

Sansa’s breath caught in her throat and the dagger nearly slipped from her fingers as her eyes grew wide. With an audacious wink, the maid who was not a maid slipped through the door humming to herself. Sansa felt rooted in place, trying to wrap her mind around the truth.

“Who was that?” Aliza asked, more awake now as she sat up.

A smile came over Sansa’s face as she breathed in deeply, relief unfurling in her chest.

“A friend."

Yet her relief would be short-lived when the banners came and she was summoned to join Queen Daenerys in greeting them.

“I do not like it, my lady.”

Sansa hardly felt surprised at Brienne’s reticence but the argument was for nothing. She was determined to attend on her own, so that Brienne could remain behind protect Aliza.

“I won’t be alone,” she said, sliding another pin into her hair. “I have little to fear at court.”

It was twisted into a bun at the crown of her head, leaving her neck bare. A rare sight for the south and a contrast to the pale green gown she wore, so dissimilar to those that she’d grown used to in Winterfell.

“The queen cannot be trusted to keep herself in check, even at court,” Brienne whispered.

Sansa sent her a cutting look, not wanting to Aliza to hear such things lest she repeat them.

“The queen has need of me,” she said, smoothing out the last wisps of her hair before rising to her feet. “And she knows that there is more to loyalty than fear, even now.”

“She’s bad, isn’t she?”

Sansa’s head snapped around to where Aliza sat upon the bed.

“You must never say that here,” she said, hard and commanding in a way that she hadn’t been with the little girl until now.

“But you’re afraid of her too, aren’t you?”

Sansa took a deep breath, turning back towards the vanity to choose from the small line of bottles there.

“It’s not as simple as that,” she said, feeling as if she was a stranger in her own skin as she prepared to don a cloak of courtesies once more. “I’ve yet to meet a king or queen that isn’t feared.”

“They didn’t use fire,” Aliza said.

Sansa walked to the bed slowly, sitting beside her as she dabbed oils upon her wrists and throat.

“Fear is not always a bad thing,” she said carefully, looking down at her. “Do you understand that?”

Aliza shook her head, her small face twisting with confusion.

“My mama always told me that I never had to be afraid if she was with me,” she said quietly.

Sansa felt a stab of sympathy and grief in her chest as she reached up to cup Aliza’s face.

“Fear helps people be brave,” she said, looking into her eyes. “Now stay here, little one. Brienne will be with you until I return.”

Aliza nodded and Sansa leaned forward on instinct, brushing a kiss over her forehead before rising once more. With a sigh, she smoothed out her skirt and steeled herself. Her eyes passed over the guards as she left her chambers, setting a pace down the corridor without looking back. Sansa could be strong, even as her heart raced in her chest. She was of the North, a wolf of Winterfell, and they would not see her cower. She entered the Great Hall through a smaller door at the side. 

The hall’s gallery had been her sanctuary, occasionally offering her relief from Joffrey’s attentions. Now it hid her from sight until she stepped out into the main part of the room, eyes falling upon her from every direction. There were few faces that she recognized, most from Joffrey’s wedding, yet their banners were all thankfully familiar to her. Sansa glanced to the throne where Daenerys sat, a satisfied look upon her face as she stared out over the beginnings of her court. Sansa crossed to the steps that led to the throne, keenly aware of the chair that sat beside it as she lowered herself into a curtsy.

“Join me, Lady Stark.”

Daenerys beckoned to her as she straightened up, making it very clear that the seat was meant for Sansa. She took it without complaint, sitting straight-backed and stone-faced. Jon’s absence came as no true surprise to her. Daenerys would undoubtedly want to keep him hidden away as long as possible. In truth, a part of Sansa wondered why she hadn’t simply exiled or killed him. It would go much further in protecting her throne if she rid herself of his competing claim. Whatever stayed her hand, Sansa was grateful for it, even as she struggled to understand Jon’s mind at the moment.

“Fitting, isn’t it?” Daenerys asked, laying her hands over the sides of the throne.

Sansa briefly considered how long it would take for the swords to cut her, as they did Joffrey, or if she’d managed to avoid their sharp edges entirely.

“Your Grace?” she said, tilting her head with confusion.

“That we should sit here,” Daenerys said, her eyes glittering with satisfaction. “And they should all tilt their heads to look upon us.”

_ We’ve both known what it means to lead people who aren’t inclined to accept a woman’s rule. _

Sansa looked out over the crowd of lords, a few with wives at their sides. She felt no satisfaction at sitting above them and wondered why it felt such a way to others. Joffrey undoubtedly reveled in it as well as his mother. Sansa would rather be at her people’s sides, listening to their worries and asking after their lands. Daenerys gave her no chance to respond, much to her relief, nodding at Grey Worm to allow the first lord to come forth with his company.

“Lord Martyn of House Mullendore,” Sansa said quietly. “A Reachman.”

Daenerys sat a little straighter as he lowered into a bow.

“Your Grace.”

“Lord Mullendore,” Daenerys said, nodding at him as she held her hand aloft in offering.

He climbed the steps carefully, kneeling before her to kiss the twisted silver ring upon her index finger.

“Allow me to present my advisor, Lady Sansa of House Stark.”

Lord Martyn’s attention snapped to her as surprise flitted through his eyes. Sansa gave him a short nod, forcing an all too familiar smile upon her lips.

“My lord.”

He looked as if he may speak but wisely withdrew when Daenerys dismissed him, allowing another lord to come forth.

“Lord Massey of the crownlands,” Sansa told her.

And so the afternoon passed in the same manner until each lord and lady presented themselves to Daenerys and bowed to her. Sansa felt weary by the time she rose to her feet, watching the queen make her exit. She made her way to Jon’s chambers without thinking, needing something more than either Brienne or Aliza could offer her. Once the door opened, she simply looked at Jon and hoped that he would not turn her away. He merely pushed the door open wider, not bothering to close it as she stepped inside and immediately dropped into a chair at his table. With a heavy sigh, Sansa pressed a hand to her forehead. Jon set a cup of wine before her but she ignored it entirely.

“I want to be home,” she whispered, looking up at him.

Jon stared back at her warily yet reached his hand out, allowing her to take it.

“You will be,” he said, a grave certainty in his voice. “Soon enough.”

Sansa gripped at his hand, wishing that she could tell him that even at Winterfell, home meant little without him. And as it stood, Daenerys wouldn’t let him go anywhere. Instead she simply stared at him, wishing that she could whisk them both away with no consequence. She wanted to tell him of Arya, somewhere within King’s Landing, or of Aliza, a child that she felt compelled to protect. But her words failed her and she simply stared, hoping that he may offer some answer to a question she didn’t even have.

“Tell me about your time with the wildlings,” Sansa finally said.

Jon looked as if he expected her to say anything but that. He blinked several times before grabbing her cup and taking a healthy sip of his own. Then he set it down and began speaking, his voice low and quiet as they lost themselves in the past once more, knowing it was the only safe place to live here. Daenerys couldn’t hold their memories against one another, so it was all that they could share. Sansa clung to his every word, their hands never parting as she learned more about him than she ever knew before. And when she stood to leave, knowing that she should attend to Aliza, Jon kept her in place with a gentle grip upon her hand.

Sansa looked down at him, seeing the desperation in his eyes. Reassurances rose to her lips but she never managed to say a single one of them before his lips brushed a soft kiss over her knuckles. Sansa’s breath caught in her throat and her heart fluttered in her chest. That look had returned to his eyes. The one that she couldn’t quite define. Only this time, it felt as if it set her body aflame in its intensity. She wanted to ask him what it meant yet she could not, keenly aware of the ever-listening guards. As she turned away, one thing became quite clear to her. She needed to find a way to speak to him alone and there was only one person that could deliver that to her.

Arya’s game would have to continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I would love to hear what you think.
> 
> Just like the audience, Sansa is still locked out of Jon's thoughts and POV. That will change very soon because she's resolved to figure out what he's thinking but he's difficult when he's not being open with her. Our girl is determined to save him, not just from Daenerys but from himself. I promise that good things happen in the next chapter.
> 
> Good luck to all of us in the finale tomorrow. I intend to keep writing when it's all said and done so don't worry about this fic or any other being abandoned. I'm sure there will be plenty to keep on fixing.


End file.
